


Weddings (and More Fine Print)

by Ellynne



Series: Rumple's New Mirror [7]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Humor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-11
Updated: 2017-10-27
Packaged: 2019-01-15 23:13:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12330741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ellynne/pseuds/Ellynne
Summary: Rumplestiltskin is getting married. There are things he needs to read.





	1. Tradition

“How did I decide to do this?” Rumplestiltskin asked.

“You made a promise, sir,” Dove said, brushing dust off the Dark One’s leather jacket.

“That’s not a good enough reason.”

“If you say so, sir.” Dove managed to get the white rose in Rumplestiltskin’s buttonhole, an accomplishment given how many spikes this jacket had.  Rumplestiltskin might have to keep his scales hidden away for this ceremony, but that didn’t mean he had to bury his fashion sense. “You can always call it off.” Dove’s voice was completely bland. “All you have to do is tell Miss Belle.” He brushed away some more dust. “Let her know you’re jilting her.” He tidied Rumplestiltskin’s cravat. “On her wedding day.”

“Have you ever thought about being a snail?” Rumplestiltskin said.

“No, sir, not often.  Now, do you remember what they said about the ceremony?”

“Yes, yes, the cleric—”

“Priest, sir. I believe the correct form of address is ‘Reverend,’ by the way.”

“Whatever. He tells us the vows. I say ‘I do’ when he stops talking. Then, he looks at Belle, and she says “I do’ when he’s done saying whatever it is he has to say.  I give Belle a ring—You have the ring, don’t you?”

“Right here, sir.” He pulled out the diamond studded ring Rumplestiltskin had given him.

Rumplestiltskin frowned.  “I don’t know.  Those stones are rather small, don’t you think?”

“The main stone is half and inch, sir.”

“Yes, small.  You know, I heard they have some decent size ones in that place, what’s it called? The one all the tourists were going to.”

“You mean the Tower of London, sir?”

“Yes, that was it.  I heard there were some fair sized ones there.”

“Those would be the crown jewels, sir.”

“There was one, nothing too pretentious, it was about the size of a small plum.  No one would miss it.”

“I believe you mean the Cullinan diamond, sir.  They keep it in the royal scepter.  I don’t imagine they would just let it go.”

“I could make a deal for it.”

“Not in the next five minutes, sir.  And Miss Belle has delicate hands, don’t you think?  A diamond that big might be a little awkward on her ring finger.”

“Hmph, I suppose.  I can get something bigger later.”

Just then the cleric—or priest or reverend or whatever he was—came in, looking cheerful.

“All ready?  There are just a few things to go over—Oh!  Nice coat!  Are you a science fiction fan?  I think I saw something like that on _Doctor Who_.  Or was it _Blake’s 7_?  Not one of those American shows.  They put everyone in polyester.  A sad lack of leather, that’s what I say.”

“Can we just get this over with?” Rumplestiltskin said.

“Oh, yes, of course.  Now, about the wedding vows.  You said you just wanted whatever was traditional?  I have the old form here, if you want to go over it.”

“I thought it was just ‘I do,’” Rumplestiltskin said, taking the paper from the whatever-he-was and scanning it quickly. 

“’I do’ is the simple version of the new form.  Of course, most people prefer the new form or making up their own vows.  I’m never sure how I feel about that. Most of them aren’t as good at it as they think they are. . . .”

Rumplestiltskin snorted.  “Amateurs always mess up verbal contracts.  Especially when they’re trying to be romantic—Ack!  What does this thing _say_?”

“To love and to cherish?”

“After that! It says—it says—” He choked, unable to get it out.

Mr. Dove looked over his shoulder.  “Oh,” he said.  “Yes.  You mean the part after ‘With this Ring I thee wed,’ where you’re supposed to say, ‘with my Body I thee worship,’ sir?”

“Ack!  How can you—how do I—What kind of wedding do you think this is, anyway?”

“Er,” the priest looked a bit uncomfortable.  “If no one’s explained—you see, married couples do—it is quite acceptable—uhm, you see, there are birds and bees and—”

“I KNOW ABOUT THE BIRDS AND THE BEES!” Rumple said.  “There will be small children present at this ceremony!  You expect me to say—to say—” He waved the paper around. “— _that_ in front of a _baby_.”

Mr. Dove was studying a far corner of the ceiling, possibly trying to determine if it was going to stay up with all the hysterics going on under it.  “I don’t think he speaks yet, sir.”

“He’ll be scarred for life!  _I’ll_ be scarred for life!”

“Well, it is the _traditional_ form,” the cleric-priest-reverend said.  He sighed.  “It’s fallen out of favor, but it really does have a poetic element the modern ones seem to lack.”

“No poetry!” Rumplestiltskin said.  “Plain text!  You ask if I take Belle for my wife, I say I do.  You ask her if she wants, er, well, accepts me for her husband, she says I do.  Leave bodies out of it!  Bodies are none of your business!”

 “Fine, fine,” the man said.  “The boring form.”  As he led them off to the small chapel, Rumple could have sworn he heard the priest snicker. Under his breath, the man murmured, “Man, I love this job. . . .”


	2. The Course of True Love

“ _Exorcizo te, omnis spiritus immunde!_ ” Reverend Evans yelled at the top of his lungs while throwing a bucket’s worth of holy water onto the groom.  He was fairly sure the Church of England must have an exorcism ritual but, if they did, he hadn’t heard it since his seminary days.  Perhaps he’d been sick the day they covered this?  It really hadn’t come up much since then, despite some of the more difficult people in Little Whinging.  If that old movie hadn’t been playing on the telly last night, he wouldn’t remember the Catholic exorcism either.  He tried to recall what came next.  “Er, out, out damned spot?  No, that can’t be it. . . .”

Everything had been going so well.  The bride, bucking convention, was wearing a gorgeous dress of yellow silk with a stunning veil of gold lace and white roses.  He’d never understood the slavish devotion to white dresses.  It hadn’t even been a tradition before Queen Victoria had come along (not that he wasn’t sure she’d looked lovely on her wedding day, all brides did).  There was even an old nursery rhyme about the _other_ colors a bride could wear.  _Married in blue/ Your love will be true.  Married in pearl/ You’ll live in a whirl_ (which would be fine for some people, although Reverend Evans, faced with a groom who seemed possessed by all the powers of darkness, felt that there was something to be said for the quiet, sedate life).

What did it say about yellow?  _Married in yellow/ Ashamed of the fellow_?  That didn’t sound right.  _Married in yellow/ You’re in love with the fellow._   There, that was better.  And _Married in gold/ You’re love will be bold_ , although he thought they could also do without the boldness right now.

Yes, it had all been going so well.  Old Mrs. Fenton had been playing on the organ.  The groom had been looking appropriately terrified and ready to bolt (very common that was with grooms).  The intimidatingly tall best man had been keeping him in place.  Then the groom got that sappy, adoring look on his face (also common) as the bride entered and walked down the aisle as Mrs. Fenton began to put the pedal to the metal, all 32 of them.

He had read the vows.  The groom had turned pale and begun to sweat when Reverend Evans paused dramatically for a moment and fiddled with the paper with the traditional form before reading the short, boring version. 

The groom said, “I do.”

The bride said, “I do.”

Reverend Evans had said, “You may kiss the bride.”

And all . . . er, heck, yes, _heck_ had broken loose (although the reverend, not normally a swearing man, felt the current moment justified a little leeway, he also felt that, if ever there was ever a moment not to be making references to places inhabited by large numbers of diabolical fiends, this was also it.  One was more than enough).

For his part, Rumplestiltskin wasn’t entirely sure what was happening either.  One moment, his palms were sweating and Belle was looking up at him demurely from behind lowered lashes in a way that was probably what any young woman who found herself marrying a monster ( _purely_ for reasons of _convenience_ and to _save_ a _child. Nothing_ that had _anything_ to do with wanting to marry _him_ ) would look at the monster if she were trying to do so in a way that didn’t tip off any clerics standing nearby that something not-quite-right was going on.

The next moment (he really should have read the rest of the simple ceremony) the cleric (who was as evil-hearted as any cleric Rumplestiltskin had ever met) was saying those terrible words.

“ _You may kiss the bride._ ”

 _May,_ Rumplestiltskin thought quickly.  The man said _may_ not must.  Also, _kiss_ was open to multiple interpretations.  Kiss her hand?  Kiss her cheek?  What did _kiss_ mean, anyway?  Wasn’t there a chocolate candy in this world they called a kiss?  In fact, weren’t there _lots_ of things people called kisses that nothing to do with—with—

But, while he’d been listing loopholes, Belle had already taken the man at his word (why? The cleric hadn’t said anything about _her_ kissing anyone, just Rumplestiltskin).  Belle leaned in, her lips pressing against his, the whole world seemed to change. . . .

No, _no,_ something was wrong.  His leg began to buckle under him, shot through with pain.  He could feel himself becoming weak, power leaking away from him.

He jerked away from Belle, tumbling into Dove as he reached out to his power, trying to hold onto it, pulling it back.  As he did, he realized his small spell of transformation had been shattered.  For a moment, he had been _human._   As the curse fell back into place, his nails turned back into the claws and his skin was covered with gold-green scales. With it, came pure fury, consuming him. “You!” he shouted at Belle.  “You did this!  Trying to make me weak!  Trying to kill the beast!”  He lunged for her.

Dove tried to pull him back.  “Now, sir, don’t do anything you’re going to regret—”

Rumplestiltskin threw him away.  He reached for Belle—

And got a bucket of cold water in his face.

“ _Exorcizo te, omnis spiritus immunde!_ ” the reverend shouted.  He rifled through his prayer book.  “Er, out, out, damned spot?  No, that can't be right.  Drat it all, why was I sick that day?  How does this part go?”

Strange icy calm settled in on Rumplestiltskin. “Excuse me,” he said. “What, exactly, do you think you’re doing?”

“Er, an exorcism?  Aren’t you demonically possessed?”

There was a whuffling sound from Harry’s baby carrier followed by a loud cry.  All the excitement had woken him up.  Also, he may have been hit by some of the cold water.  Belle ran to him and got him out of the carrier, trying to soothe him and not having much success.

Rumplestiltskin counted slowly to ten.  “No,” he told the cleric.  “I’m not possessed.”  The curse snickered in the back of his mind.  “Not _demonically._ ”

“Oh?” the cleric said, not buying it. “Then what’s with the scales and goat eyes?”

“Lizard eyes,” Rumplestiltskin corrected. 

“He’s a wizard,” Belle said, still trying to calm Harry. Rumplestiltskin winced.  He hadn’t really explained the statute of secrecy to her.

“A wizard?” The cleric looked at him in all his dripping wet glory. “Oh, I’m so sorry.  That would explain it.  You’re part Merfolk or something?”

“You know about wizards?” Rumplestiltskin said.  “I thought they were supposed to be secret around here?”

The cleric snorted.  “Wizards can think whatever they like.  Growing up, I knew a girl who flew.  Then, when she turned eleven, an owl came over to her house with a letter telling her about magic school.  You could hear her yelling for miles  People tend to notice things like that.”

“I could see how they would.”

“And, well,” he gestured towards his collar.  “Clergy.  People come to us when strange things start happening.  You hear stories.  And I met a vicar who served in Hogsmeade.  That’s the town right by Britain’s school of magic.  I was under consideration to replace him but I got Little Whinging instead.”

“I see,” Rumplestiltskin said.  “I suppose you don’t expect things like. . . .” he waved a scaly hand, “. . . . _this_ here.”

“You’d be surprised,” the cleric said.  “We’ve been having quite a problem with a sewer clown for some time now, although I was hearing today someone finally took care of it.  High time, too.  No hard feelings about the exorcism, I hope?”

“None,” Rumplestiltskin said. “Uh. . . ."  Normally, he didn't like to ask clerics for advice.  But, the man did seem to understand something about how magic worked in this world.  "I don't suppose you have any idea what happened there at the end of the ceremony?”

“She kissed you and something changed, something magic."  _Thank you, Captain Obvious._ How much more useless could the man be?  But, the cleric didn't stop there. "Wait, was that true love’s kiss?  Oh, but that’s only supposed to work on curses.”

_I liked him better when he was useless._

Rumplestiltskin had a brief, desperate moment when he hoped Belle hadn't heard that--or hadn't understood it if she had. 

Instead, as soon as the words were out the cleric's mouth, Belle looked up, surprised.  Harry had chosen this moment to calm down, no longer distracting her. “True love’s kiss?” she said.  Then, she turned red and looking away.

The old woman at the organ clasped her hands in delight.  “True love’s kiss!  How delightful!”

 _Delightful,_ Rumplestiltskin thought, cursing silently.  _She said_ delightful.

“Tu uf kih!” Harry chortled happily.

Rumplestiltskin turned and glared at Mr. Dove.  “Well?” he demanded.  “Something to say?”

“Me, sir?  No, sir.” He looked at the others.  I believe everyone else has already said it, sir.”

Rumplestiltskin turned his attention back to the cleric.  “There may have been a curse involved in my appearance,” he said. “It’s one way of changing how you look.”

“Really?  I suppose I can see how that would work.  But, you seemed so upset when it broke.”

“Breaking it has that effect,” he grated.  He did not want to discuss this.  Especially now.  Especially with a cleric.  “Belle, are you all right?  I don’t—I didn’t—”

“I’m fine,” Belle said.  “Was that really true—”

“We can talk about it later!” Rumplestiltskin said quickly.  “How’s Harry?  Is he all right?  Not too frightened, I hope?”

The cleric looked at the baby.  “Harry?” he said.  “That wouldn’t be Harry Potter, would it?  Oh!  He has Cousin Lily’s eyes! That is him!”

“Cousin Lily?” Rumplestiltskin asked. 

“Second cousin once removed.  She was the one who could fly.  Is that her son?  I’d heard he was living with Cousin Petunia.”

For the second time in the past five minutes, Rumplestiltskin had a feeling of light-headed unreality.  This time, however, his curse didn’t seem to be going anywhere.  “It was decided he would be safer with us,” he said.

The cleric nodded.  “Glad to hear it.  Not to speak badly of Petunia, bless her heart, but difficult family situations are not her strong point.”

“And Vernon Dursley?” Belle asked.

“Ah.  Vernon.  Well.” The cleric cleared his throat.  “Just between you and me, I’d try an exorcism on him, if I thought it would do any good.  But, if a demon ever were unfortunate enough to wander into him, I imagine the first thing it would do would be try to get out.  Surely, even they can’t be that desperate.”

“Surely,” Rumplestiltskin said.  “Belle, Dove, I think we need to be going.”

Belle nodded. “Of course, Rumple.  About that kiss—”

“ _Later!_ ” Rumple said, trying not to sound panicked.  “We’ll discuss that _later._   We have paperwork to fill out.  And things— _lots_ of things to do.  Enough lollygagging!”

“What things would those be, sir?” Dove asked.

Rumplestiltskin glowered.  “Things!  Very important _things!_ ”

“Oh, of course, sir.  Those things.”

“Yes,” Belle said firmly.  “Things.  We will certainly be discussing _things._ ” She shot Rumplestiltskin a look that he was sure had him turning scarlet beneath his scales. 

He should have gone with the traditional version.  If he had, he’d at least have a contract to protect him from looks like that.

As they walked out, the organist came running after them.  “Congratulations!” she said, throwing rice at them.  It got stuck in Rumplestiltskin’s wet hair.  “Have a good day!”

“And don’t forget to write!” the cleric said.  “I want to hear all about this!” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yep, Rumple made that veil himself from gold thread.


	3. The Course of True Love

“ _Exorcizo te, omnis spiritus immunde!_ ” Reverend Evans yelled at the top of his lungs while throwing a bucket’s worth of holy water onto the groom.  He was fairly sure the Church of England must have an exorcism ritual but, if they did, he hadn’t heard it since his seminary days.  Perhaps he’d been sick the day they covered this?  It really hadn’t come up much since then, despite some of the more difficult people in Little Whinging.  If that old movie hadn’t been playing on the telly last night, he wouldn’t remember the Catholic exorcism either.  He tried to recall what came next.  “Er, out, out damned spot?  No, that can’t be it. . . .”

Everything had been going so well.  The bride, bucking convention, was wearing a gorgeous dress of yellow silk with a stunning veil of gold lace and white roses.  He’d never understood the slavish devotion to white dresses.  It hadn’t even been a tradition before Queen Victoria had come along (not that he wasn’t sure she’d looked lovely on her wedding day, all brides did).  There was even an old nursery rhyme about the _other_ colors a bride could wear.  _Married in blue/ Your love will be true.  Married in pearl/ You’ll live in a whirl_ (which would be fine for some people, although Reverend Evans, faced with a groom who seemed possessed by all the powers of darkness, felt that there was something to be said for the quiet, sedate life).

What did it say about yellow?  _Married in yellow/ Ashamed of the fellow_?  That didn’t sound right.  _Married in yellow/ You’re in love with the fellow._   There, that was better.  And _Married in gold/ You’re love will be bold_ , although he thought they could also do without the boldness right now.

Yes, it had all been going so well.  Old Mrs. Fenton had been playing on the organ.  The groom had been looking appropriately terrified and ready to bolt (very common that was with grooms).  The intimidatingly tall best man had been keeping him in place.  Then the groom got that sappy, adoring look on his face (also common) as the bride entered and walked down the aisle as Mrs. Fenton began to put the pedal to the metal, all 32 of them.

He had read the vows.  The groom had turned pale and begun to sweat when Reverend Evans paused dramatically for a moment and fiddled with the paper with the traditional form before reading the short, boring version. 

The groom said, “I do.”

The bride said, “I do.”

Reverend Evans had said, “You may kiss the bride.”

And all . . . er, heck, yes, _heck_ had broken loose (although the reverend, not normally a swearing man, felt the current moment justified a little leeway, he also felt that, if ever there was ever a moment not to be making references to places inhabited by large numbers of diabolical fiends, this was also it.  One was more than enough).

For his part, Rumplestiltskin wasn’t entirely sure what was happening either.  One moment, his palms were sweating and Belle was looking up at him demurely from behind lowered lashes in a way that was probably what any young woman who found herself marrying a monster ( _purely_ for reasons of _convenience_ and to _save_ a _child. Nothing_ that had _anything_ to do with wanting to marry _him_ ) would look at the monster if she were trying to do so in a way that didn’t tip off any clerics standing nearby that something not-quite-right was going on.

The next moment (he really should have read the rest of the simple ceremony) the cleric (who was as evil-hearted as any cleric Rumplestiltskin had ever met) was saying those terrible words.

“ _You may kiss the bride._ ”

 _May,_ Rumplestiltskin thought quickly.  The man said _may_ not must.  Also, _kiss_ was open to multiple interpretations.  Kiss her hand?  Kiss her cheek?  What did _kiss_ mean, anyway?  Wasn’t there a chocolate candy in this world they called a kiss?  In fact, weren’t there _lots_ of things people called kisses that nothing to do with—with—

But, while he’d been listing loopholes, Belle had already taken the man at his word (why? The cleric hadn’t said anything about _her_ kissing anyone, just Rumplestiltskin).  Belle leaned in, her lips pressing against his, the whole world seemed to change. . . .

No, _no,_ something was wrong.  His leg began to buckle under him, shot through with pain.  He could feel himself becoming weak, power leaking away from him.

He jerked away from Belle, tumbling into Dove as he reached out to his power, trying to hold onto it, pulling it back.  As he did, he realized his small spell of transformation had been shattered.  For a moment, he had been _human._   As the curse fell back into place, his nails turned back into the claws and his skin was covered with gold-green scales. With it, came pure fury, consuming him. “You!” he shouted at Belle.  “You did this!  Trying to make me weak!  Trying to kill the beast!”  He lunged for her.

Dove tried to pull him back.  “Now, sir, don’t do anything you’re going to regret—”

Rumplestiltskin threw him away.  He reached for Belle—

And got a bucket of cold water in his face.

“ _Exorcizo te, omnis spiritus immunde!_ ” the reverend shouted.  He rifled through his prayer book.  “Er, out, out, damned spot?  No, that can't be right.  Drat it all, why was I sick that day?  How does this part go?”

Strange icy calm settled in on Rumplestiltskin. “Excuse me,” he said. “What, exactly, do you think you’re doing?”

“Er, an exorcism?  Aren’t you demonically possessed?”

There was a whuffling sound from Harry’s baby carrier followed by a loud cry.  All the excitement had woken him up.  Also, he may have been hit by some of the cold water.  Belle ran to him and got him out of the carrier, trying to soothe him and not having much success.

Rumplestiltskin counted slowly to ten.  “No,” he told the cleric.  “I’m not possessed.”  The curse snickered in the back of his mind.  “Not _demonically._ ”

“Oh?” the cleric said, not buying it. “Then what’s with the scales and goat eyes?”

“Lizard eyes,” Rumplestiltskin corrected. 

“He’s a wizard,” Belle said, still trying to calm Harry. Rumplestiltskin winced.  He hadn’t really explained the statute of secrecy to her.

“A wizard?” The cleric looked at him in all his dripping wet glory. “Oh, I’m so sorry.  That would explain it.  You’re part Merfolk or something?”

“You know about wizards?” Rumplestiltskin said.  “I thought they were supposed to be secret around here?”

The cleric snorted.  “Wizards can think whatever they like.  Growing up, I knew a girl who flew.  Then, when she turned eleven, an owl came over to her house with a letter telling her about magic school.  You could hear her yelling for miles  People tend to notice things like that.”

“I could see how they would.”

“And, well,” he gestured towards his collar.  “Clergy.  People come to us when strange things start happening.  You hear stories.  And I met a vicar who served in Hogsmeade.  That’s the town right by Britain’s school of magic.  I was under consideration to replace him but I got Little Whinging instead.”

“I see,” Rumplestiltskin said.  “I suppose you don’t expect things like. . . .” he waved a scaly hand, “. . . . _this_ here.”

“You’d be surprised,” the cleric said.  “We’ve been having quite a problem with a sewer clown for some time now, although I was hearing today someone finally took care of it.  High time, too.  No hard feelings about the exorcism, I hope?”

“None,” Rumplestiltskin said. “Uh. . . ."  Normally, he didn't like to ask clerics for advice.  But, the man did seem to understand something about how magic worked in this world.  "I don't suppose you have any idea what happened there at the end of the ceremony?”

“She kissed you and something changed, something magic."  _Thank you, Captain Obvious._ How much more useless could the man be?  But, the cleric didn't stop there. "Wait, was that true love’s kiss?  Oh, but that’s only supposed to work on curses.”

_I liked him better when he was useless._

Rumplestiltskin had a brief, desperate moment when he hoped Belle hadn't heard that--or hadn't understood it if she had. 

Instead, as soon as the words were out the cleric's mouth, Belle looked up, surprised.  Harry had chosen this moment to calm down, no longer distracting her. “True love’s kiss?” she said.  Then, she turned red and looking away.

The old woman at the organ clasped her hands in delight.  “True love’s kiss!  How delightful!”

 _Delightful,_ Rumplestiltskin thought, cursing silently.  _She said_ delightful.

“Tu uf kih!” Harry chortled happily.

Rumplestiltskin turned and glared at Mr. Dove.  “Well?” he demanded.  “Something to say?”

“Me, sir?  No, sir.” He looked at the others.  I believe everyone else has already said it.”

Rumplestiltskin turned his attention back to the cleric.  “There may have been a curse involved in my appearance,” he said. “It’s one way of changing how you look.”

“Really?  I suppose I can see how that would work.  But, you seemed so upset when it broke.”

“Breaking it has that effect,” he grated.  He did not want to discuss this.  Especially now.  Especially with a cleric.  “Belle, are you all right?  I don’t—I didn’t—”

“I’m fine,” Belle said.  “Was that really true—”

“We can talk about it later!” Rumplestiltskin said quickly.  “How’s Harry?  Is he all right?  Not too frightened, I hope?”

The cleric looked at the baby.  “Harry?” he said.  “That wouldn’t be Harry Potter, would it?  Oh!  He has Cousin Lily’s eyes! That is him!”

“Cousin Lily?” Rumplestiltskin asked. 

“Second cousin once removed.  She was the one who could fly.  Is that her son?  I’d heard he was living with Cousin Petunia.”

For the second time in the past five minutes, Rumplestiltskin had a feeling of light-headed unreality.  This time, however, his curse didn’t seem to be going anywhere.  “It was decided he would be safer with us,” he said.

The cleric nodded.  “Glad to hear it.  Not to speak badly of Petunia, bless her heart, but difficult family situations are not her strong point.”

“And Vernon Dursley?” Belle asked.

“Ah.  Vernon.  Well.” The cleric cleared his throat.  “Just between you and me, I’d try an exorcism on him, if I thought it would do any good.  But, if a demon ever were unfortunate enough to wander into him, I can’t imagine the first thing it would be try to get out.  Surely, even they can’t be that desperate.”

“Surely,” Rumplestiltskin said.  “Belle, Dove, I think we need to be going.”

Belle nodded. “Of course, Rumple.  About that kiss—”

“ _Later!_ ” Rumple said, trying not to sound panicked.  “We’ll discuss that _later._   We have paperwork to fill out.  And things— _lots_ of things to do.  Enough lollygagging!”

“What things would those be, sir?” Dove asked.

Rumplestiltskin glowered.  “Things!  Very important _things!_ ”

“Oh, of course, sir.  Those things.”

“Yes,” Belle said firmly.  “Things.  We will certainly be discussing _things._ ” She shot Rumplestiltskin a look that he was sure had him turning scarlet beneath his scales. 

He should have gone with the traditional version.  If he had, he’d at least have a contract to protect him from looks like that.

As they walked out, the organist came running after them.  “Congratulations!” she said, throwing rice at them.  It got stuck in Rumplestiltskin’s wet hair.  “Have a good day!”

“And don’t forget to write!” the cleric said.  “I want to hear all about this!” 

**Author's Note:**

> This is an actual version of the Church of England marriage vows, although not so commonly used these days as in Jane Austen's.


End file.
